Can't outrun medical science

Some people always have to learn things the hard way. I know this because I’m well acquainted with one of them.

That someone would be me.

Yes, for years I existed on the outside of popular medical science. I drank alcohol, smoked, lived on bologna sandwiches for lunch and pizza for dinner and breakfast. I failed to exercise regularly. Only saw doctors on the golf course. For about 20 years, I averaged about four hours of sleep a night.

Yes, if there was a bad habit, I cultivated it like Farmer Brown on steroids.

Anyway, in 2006, my lung collapsed spontaneously. I had no idea a lung would up and do something like that. The doctor at the time told me it was probably caused by years of smoking, even though I had quit a couple of years before.

Dadgum surgeon general warned me something like this might happen, but I, as usual, failed to listen.

So I vowed then and there to actually pay attention to dire medical warnings. This vow lasted for about a year. Because, well, I usually have to learn things the hard way.

All of this is preface to a story that fits into the general description of what my wife would call “TMI,” the acronym for “too much information.” But, I figure, if one person gets a helpful message from my experience, then why not?

I’ll start by saying I got some good news last month. It didn’t have to turn out that way. In fact, it could’ve been a horror story. When all was said and done, though, it turned out to be nothing more than a relatively minor inconvenience. And one that won’t happen until sometime in early October.

At least I hope so.

The good news stemmed from a medical procedure in July, one designed to find problems early. It was supposed to be scheduled because I’m on a three-year rotation to have this particular thing done. You see, I’m considered at high risk for colon cancer. My father had it, my grandmother had it. The odds are considered well above the national average that one day I might have it. Heredity, what can you do?

I had my first colonoscopy in 2009 — I called it my belated 50th birthday present. All in all, socks would be a better gift. They found a couple of polyps and removed them. It was nothing serious. No big deal, outside of the pretty disgusting prep for the exam. Other than that, I forgot about it . . . until late last year.

That’s when my doctor began contacting me. It was in late November of 2012. They wanted to schedule colonoscopy No. 2.

But I put it off. Then I put it off again. And I put it off again.

See a pattern here?

And then my friend and colleague Mike Wilder got sick, terribly sick, terminally sick. By the time he was taken to a hospital his body was riddled with cancer. It was almost everywhere, including his colon. Nothing could be done for him at that point. In a month he was gone at age 45.

After Mike passed away I set up an appointment to get it done.

Scheduling conflicts postponed the procedure further — until July 30. That day the doctor found three polyps. He removed two — both the kind that become cancerous. The third was massive. Even the doctor was aghast at how “big” it was. He said it was an inch and a half in size.

But the major problem, aside from its size, was its location. In real estate terms, it was in one loser of a site — in a blind hairpin curve and nowhere near anything much. The doctor could barely see it, much less determine what’s in it.

Instead of removing the polyp, he took samples from it to determine if cancer was present. He set an appointment for Aug. 22 to discuss the situation. Either way, this polyp would have to go.

At the appointment, he reiterated that the polyp was indeed the type that can often lead to cancer. “Do you produce any other kind?” my spouse turned and asked me. Thankfully, though, of the samples he took, none came back as cancerous. Because he didn’t get a sample everywhere on it, there could still be a small growth, but it’s not likely.

The doctor presented two options for removing this massive sucker, contact a surgeon, which would mean whacking out a substantial amount of colon. The second option was having another colonoscopy — or perhaps even two, just to make sure he gets it all. Because there is no cancer he’s relatively sure option 2 will work.

I told him to pass me the Miralax and raise the toilet lid.

What this all tells me is that I have to take this three-year colonoscopy cycle seriously. I’m a serial producer of evil polyps. “Colon cancer is completely preventable,” the doctor told us.

But I learned that I have to get that procedure, no matter how big a pain in the rump it might be.

At least I didn’t have to find it out in the hardest possible way.

Madison Taylor is editor of the Times-News. Contact him at mtaylor@thetimesnews.com.